


Accidental Love

by Annaelle



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: 1x03, Clony - Freeform, Kind of like an idea that stuck in my head when I first watched it, M/M, Unbeta'd, i dunno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: His entire world has shifted, tilting on its axis until he can barely recognize the life he has anymore. Change is not, necessarily, a bad thing. He knows this, and has had a lot of practice with accepting such unexpected changes, but that does not make it any easier to deal with them in the moment—especially not when they are launched at him from all sides, one after another, until he is so overwhelmed he can barely tell up from down anymore.1x03 AU





	Accidental Love

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just finished watching the entire show. I was immediately struck by the chemistry between Tony and Clay, and I just needed to get this out, because when I watched the scene in 1x03 I genuinely thought this was going to happen for a moment. 
> 
> So. Yeah, this is entirely unbeta'd, but I hope you like anyway. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love <3
> 
> Love, Annaelle

# Accidental Love

## “There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.”   
―Sarah Dessen

His entire world has shifted, tilting on its axis until he can barely recognize the life he has anymore. Change is not, necessarily, a bad thing. He knows this, and has had a lot of practice with accepting such unexpected changes, but that does not make it any easier to deal with them in the moment—especially not when they are launched at him from all sides, one after another, until he is so overwhelmed he can barely tell up from down anymore.

These days, he mostly feels unsure and overwhelmed. Hannah Baker committed _suicide_ , and she left him and a bunch of others a collection of _mixtapes_ , for fuck’s sake.

Despite them not speaking so much anymore lately, Tony’s been following him around _a lot_ and _everyone_ seems to know more about the tapes than he does and he’s just _so tired_.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Said nonsensicalness is likely why he finds himself in a back alley beside a less-than-reputable liquor store, clutching a bottle of alcohol in a stereotypical brown paper bag in his hand as Justin drags him back to their little ragtag group of misfits. Alex seems just as nonplussed to find himself here as Clay feels, but before he can dig deeper into that particular observation, the familiar roar of Tony’s Mustang draws his attention, and he feels simultaneously better and more on edge.

He barely hears Bryce and his cronies jeer at him as he turns to look at Tony, his heart thudding a little faster in his chest as his gaze meets Tony’s. “Oh look, your boyfriend’s waiting for you,” Bryce says scathingly, and Clay supposes he _would_ be bothered, but…

He doesn’t really care what people think anymore.

If there’s anything he’s learned from Hannah’s tapes so far, it’s that people are going to believe whatever the hell they want anyway, regardless of what the truth actually is.

And…

Lately, he’s not so sure about what he feels for Tony anymore.

He’s _sure_ Tony knows, because Clay is many things, but _subtle_ isn’t one of them. Case in point; he’s been staring at the other boy for far longer than socially acceptable, and he’s almost certain he’s blushing beneath Tony’s steady and knowing gaze.

Reluctantly, he tears his gaze from the other boy’s when Bryce starts talking again, though he must admit he barely listens before he starts chugging the damned alcohol. It _burns_ down his throat, and his eyes water as he tries to quench the desire to laugh hysterically at the absolute ridiculousness of his current predicament. The burn _does_ distract him from the _ache_ in his chest, and he’s such a damned lightweight that his head begins to feel fuzzy already, and he’s not even halfway through his bottle.

The promise of getting drunk and temporarily not having to _care_ about the absolute shitshow his life had somehow turned into spurs him on though, and he keeps drinking, chugging the stupid bottle like he’s fucking getting paid for it—and finishing it far too soon for his own tastes.

He barely feels buzzed, although his thoughts feels decidedly slower and less focused when he turns around, stomping towards where Tony is leaning against the car, his thoughts spinning through his mind at a mile a minute, so fast and so confusedly that he can barely keep up himself. Something in him rankles at the disapproving glare Tony sends his way, and his mouth has opened to say something—undoubtedly stupid—before he can stop himself.

“Really appreciate your help,” he snaps, glaring at Tony when he scoffs.

“Looks like you were having a good time with your friends,” Tony snaps back, gesturing towards where the other boys stand angrily, nearly tossing his sunglasses into the path of an oncoming car.

They could argue about this—something nonsensical and stupid—for hours, Clay knows, as they had many times during the course of their friendship, and he honestly doesn’t have the energy for it. Instead, he drops it and demands, “Why’re you following me?”

“I _wasn’t_ following you,” Tony denies heatedly, “I saw you with Alex, I thought you were on his tape.”

The tapes.

Right. Of course.

Because Tony wouldn’t want to reconnect with him because he actually _missed_ Clay, and their friendship. It had to be about Hannah and her last requests—and fuck if that doesn’t piss him off _more_.

“Then why were you at Mrs Baker’s earlier?”

He doesn’t care—not really—he just doesn’t understand and nothing makes sense, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if Tony can give him this _one thing_ , the chaos in his head will die down a little.

The question seems to catch Tony off guard though, and Clay _swears_ he can see a glimpse of _hurt_ in the other boy’s eyes before Tony looks down to take a deep breath. “Look, if you can’t trust me, Clay, then I can’t help you.” 

Tony moves before Clay can stop him, gently shoving him aside as he opens his car door to get in—

“Tony, wait.” Clay’s hand shoots out and curls itself around Tony’s elbow before he can stop himself. “Come on, man. Of course I—” he breaks off, a little taken aback by the _murderous_ glare Tony sends his way, before he pushes on anyway. “I trust you. I just don’t—”

He doesn’t know _what_ to say to explain the whirlwind of emotions within him, and he ends up shrugging helplessly, because he’s never needed _words_ to tell Tony what he was thinking.

He’s hoping, desperately so, that that hasn’t changed.

“I know, buddy,” Tony says softly, bumping the door shut with his hip before turning into Clay’s grip as he reaches out to clasp his fingers around Clay’s wrists in return. “You’re going to be fine though.”

“Am I?” Clay questions breathlessly, eyes roving over Tony’s features tirelessly, desperate to find _something_ , _anything_ , that will make him remember how to _breathe_. Clay doesn’t realize how little space is left between them until he looks up at him again. It is a heady feeling to breathe in the air Tony has just exhaled, and his mind feels clouded, and he honestly cannot remember a valid reason to _not_ lean in and kiss him—Tony’s lips are _so_ close, and it is almost as though...

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs thoughtlessly, eyes fastened on her full, undoubtedly soft, pink lips.

Tony’s eyes widen, and his lips part, and Clay’s suddenly terrified of being pushed away again—and so he does the only thing he can think of and presses his lips to Tony’s.

There is a moment in which he can feel Tony clam up entirely, frozen in disbelief, and Clay fears he has made a terrible mistake, before Tony _melts_ against him and returns the kiss with a kind of breathless urgency that makes Clay’s legs feel weak. He’s sure Tony can _taste_ the desperation on Clay’s lips, _feel_ the urgency and anguish behind his frantic touches and kisses, but he doesn’t _stop_.

He kisses Clay back, curling his fingers in the back of Clay’s hoodie as Clay slips his fingers into Tony’s carefully gelled locks, tilting the shorter boy’s head up to deepen the kiss. It’s a messy kiss—all teeth and tongue—and Clay distantly thinks that his hold on Tony’s hair _has_ to be painful.

 _“Carajo_ ,” Tony curses when they part of air, and Clay distantly thinks that Spanish has never sounded so _hot_ before in his life. “Clay, we really shouldn’t—I can’t—I have a boyfriend.”

He falls silent, eyes fastened on Clay’s lips, and Clay’s heart is _pounding_ as he blearily tries to comprehend whatever the hell he’s doing. “I don’t care,” he replies breathlessly, because he _doesn’t_ —

And then the world tilts alarmingly for a moment when Tony yanks open the door and manoeuvres them onto the backseat, his lips once again occupying Clay’s in a downright _filthy_ kiss as they writhe to get comfortable in the cramped space after Tony slams the door shut behind them. They grapple for control for a while, impatiently pushing at jackets and feverishly attempting to unbutton trousers without breaking the kiss.

Clay groans, eyes rolling back in his head and blunt fingernails digging into Tony’s shoulders when he bites down on the skin just above Clay’s collarbone before soothing over the mark with his tongue.

“ _Tony_ ,” he whines, slipping his hands down Tony’s back to his bottom, pulling Tony’s hips down to grind on his and _holy fucking shit_ —

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” Tony pants, teeth scraping against Clay’s earlobe as he grinds himself against Clay’s _painful_ hard-on. “But I want to _so much_.” Clay wants to say something, tell Tony that he’s not alone in that, and that it’s _never_ too much, but he’s _lost_ in _everything_ , and he almost can’t remember his own name, much less other words.

“I want this, too,” he chokes, just as Tony manages to shove his trousers down, curling his warm fingers around Clay’s erection, and Clay nearly comes on the spot.

Tony shudders, his eyes slipping shut for a short moment before he moves to straddle Clay’s legs.

“Tell me to keep going,” Tony tells him, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide before he leans in for a slower, deeper kiss than before. Clay’s eyes flutter shut as Tony slides his tongue along his own in an erotic dance unlike anything Clay’s ever experienced before. The kiss grows more frantic and desperate, and Clay almost feels like Tony is trying to claim him as _his_.

He knows, though, that Tony would _never_.

He also finds that, as Tony rakes his fingernails over Clay’s nipples and grinds their cocks against one another, he does not mind being marked as Tony’s one bit.

He cannot quite contain the whimper that falls from his lips, and he can feel Tony smile against him.

“Someone’s excited,” he mutters, and Clay kind of wants to smack—or kiss—that mischievous grin from Tony’s lips. He does, pulling Tony down to kiss him again, slower and sweeter this time, slipping his hand down to Tony’s ass to pull him closer.

He rocks his hips up against Tony, and he can’t suppress the _whine_ that falls from his lips at the _feel_ of Tony’s heated skin on his—it’s _incredible_. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out, and he can’t _breathe_ , he can’t _think_ and he can’t _stop_ —nor does he want to.

He gasps breathlessly when Tony works his hand between them, wrapping his fingers around them both. “ _Fuck, Tony_ ,” he groans, hips bucking upwards as he fucks up into the tight ring of Tony’s fingers, his hands grasping at Tony’s shoulders, skin slipping against sweaty skin.

“That’s the idea,” Tony rasps, panting against Clay’s lips, their hips moving together almost simultaneously. “Now shut up and kiss me, Jensen.”

He laughs, because _of course_ Tony would be bossy as fuck now too, but complies, pressing his lips to Tony’s again as Tony’s hand keeps moving, stroking their cocks in smooth, long strokes. He feels coiled tightly, muscles tensing imperceptibly as Tony breaks the kiss again, his forehead tipping forward to rest against Clay’s.

“Come on, Clay,” Tony pants, “come for me.”

The words tip him over the edge, and he comes in a rush of pleasure that makes his head spin, toes curling inside his sneakers as he listens to Tony’s ragged breathing as he keeps stroking them both until Clay’s skin feels raw and tender and he’s shaking, watching with rapped attention as Tony keeps stroking himself, eyes screwed shut and lips parted and—

Clay’s struck by just how _beautiful_ Tony is.

It takes only a few more strokes before Tony’s coming all over himself and Clay, whimpering Clay’s name before collapsing on top of him, completely disregarding the mess on their stomachs.

It takes a long time before Clay remembers how to breathe normally, and for the first time he begins to realize that he just made out with his best friend in public before having sex with said best friend on the backseat of his car in broad fucking daylight.

“Tony,” he whispers softly, staring up at the Mustangs ceiling, as reality starts catching up to him again, his fingers curled in Tony’s hair. “What happens now?”

He can _feel_ rather than hear the soft sigh that falls from Tony’s lips, before Tony pushes himself up on his elbows, hovering only inches above him, hair a mess and lips kiss-swollen. “I don’t know,” he replies, his voice equally quiet as he looks down at him. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll figure it out, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, also, I just had an idea for a story, both Clay/Tony and Hannah/Clay (with some minor Tony/Brad, I suppose). It starts out different though, with Clay and Tony already dating when Hannah moves to town and they all get to know each other. 
> 
> I keep wondering how that would have affected canon. Anyone interested? 
> 
> Love, Annaelle


End file.
